


(dream smp) no room for traitors

by gobbledego



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dream Smp, Evil Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Insane Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Violence, Oneshot, Post-Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Blowing Up L'Manberg, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gobbledego/pseuds/gobbledego
Summary: schlatt finds wilbur's tnt room
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62
Collections: This collection includes works relating to Minecraft- Dream Smp.





	(dream smp) no room for traitors

**Author's Note:**

> tw // blood, violence, swearing
> 
> this is written with the characters within the dream smp in mind. this has nothing to do with how they act in real life, nor is this meant to represent their real life friendships and relationships :) remember that its all a bit!  
> also i kind of switch povs halfway through which i hope aint too confusing  
> also also ik this doesnt actually happen..cus (at this time?) wilbur hasnt blown the mf thing up yet.. but i think itd be kinda dramatic if it did lol so

It had taken him forever to find it. 

A tunnel, cleverly concealed beneath the grassy plains of his own home. He'd crawled through it himself, though his little right hand man would've been far more fitting for the job. His little right hand man, who he'd watched scatter into glitter and stars. No room for traitors in his home. His little right hand man was better as a pile of glitter and stars. Of course, the glitter had never really come off his freshly-pressed suit, no matter how many times he'd had it washed. 

His suit was wrinkled now. Streaks of dust and mud stained the dress trousers and waistcoat and his tie was just a little too tight and lay lopsided across his chest. But he didn't fix it. He was President, after all. Who cared about appearances? In the end, who really cared?

He was slumped in the corner of this chamber, head down, breath coming to him in short rasps of dusty air. He didn't need to look around to know what this was. A room of rebellion, he knew. A room for traitors. There was no room for traitors in his home, that much he knew quite clearly. His little right hand man had gone up in glitter and stars. A long ago partner and an infuriating little boy with far too many things to say had been sent far away in storms of arrows and fire. 

It was easy for him, ridding this land of dirt. He was President, after all. He was the best President his home had ever had, that much he had been told many times. By a pretty boy with uncertain gait, by an odd one who scribbled too much in leather-backed books and smiled at him with eyes that had nothing to lose, by a masked businessman with a faraway voice and a hungry flame nothing could satisfy. They told him, twinkly-eyed, they'd never betray him. They knew, more than anyone. There was no room for traitors in his home. 

The soft footsteps in the tunnel caught his attention and his ram-like ears perked, head shooting upwards, beady eyes trained eagerly on the dim glow of the entrance. A distant light pulsed, growing slightly brighter as the footsteps drew closer. He watched, smirk pulling at his lip, as Wilbur Soot trudged into the chamber.

He had to strain through the gloom to get a proper look at the man, but he would've recognised that hair anywhere. Tangled russet waves, falling unruly over Wilbur's forehead in such a way he often had to brush them out of the way hastily in order to see. He did that now as he peered around the room, his torch casting scant light across the room, which didn't do much good in the way of seeing things, but Wilbur seemed to know his way quite well anyway. He skulked across the length of the room, unaware of the eyes burning into his skull, until he reached a small button on the furthest wall.

The man in the corner hadn't noticed the button before, and noticed how daunting it looked just then, placed directly in the middle of the wall, and fixed beneath the cold stare of Wilbur's eyes. Wilbur, who he hadn't seen in these lands since September 22nd. Wilbur Soot. Traitor. 

There was no room for traitors in his home. 

Despite his inhibitions, a flash of anger shot through his feeble body, and in a moment he was on his feet and had tackled Wilbur Soot to the ground. The latter let out a yelp as he hit the floor, and then the two were fighting for the upper hand, and he very quickly realised that he was in no state to be any kind of a fighter at all. It was only a matter of seconds before Wilbur got the upper hand, then Wilbur was holding him down, smug smirk plastered on his face.

"Jebediah Schlatt," he purred. "How in hell did you get down here?"

Schlatt grunted his irritation. Perhaps it was at being bested by his former friend, perhaps it was simply speaking with him, he couldn't quite tell. "Not as slick as you think you are, lover boy."

Wilbur rolled his eyes and, much to Schlatt's surprise, rose to his feet and turned back towards the button on the wall, leaving Schlatt unguarded on the ground. "Well, it's not like you can do much to stop me now. You're too slow, old man." 

Schlatt snorted, not budging from where he lay despite being completely free to. "I always knew you'd come back, try and complete some little scheme to satisfy your sad little pipe dream, little l'Manburg. Just face it, Wilbur Soot," he grinned manically at the back of his old friend's head, bloodshot eyes glinting with a wild insanity, "you're over. You have never been good enough. Never been strong enough. Not even your own so-"

"Shut up."

"-really think they're all on your side, Wilbur Soot? They all hate you. They're all waiting for the moment they can run back to me. They all think you're insa-"

"Shut up!" 

"-your pig friend? Your little protégé? God, you're oblivious. You really think they'd choose you over me?" Schlatt was on his hands and knees now, crawling closer to Wilbur, cackling feverishly. "I had them from the very beginning, Wilbur Soot. Remember that. You never had a chan-"

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence because the fist came first, connecting with his nose with a soft crack, and Schlatt was back on the ground. He still grinned, however, even as blood streamed down his chin, spilling into his mouth and leaving a metallic taste on his tongue. His teeth, stained with droplets of scarlet, remained bared in an unrestrained smirk. He was sure that it hurt, but he was numb with hysterics. 

Wilbur was panting heavily, facing away from the button now. Schlatt could see bruises already beginning to form in reds and blues on his knuckles, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes were fixed, unfocused, on a spot on the wall on the opposite side of the chamber. He didn't look at Schlatt. Schlatt watched him. When he spoke, his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and his eyes never moved from that spot on the wall.

"Do you know what is behind this button, Schlatt?" 

Schlatt looked up at him still, not bothering to wipe the blood as it dripped from his nose to his chin onto his dress shirt. It blended with the red of his tie, until you couldn't tell if there'd ever been blood there at all.

"T&T. Hundreds of it." Wilbur continued, voice rising a little with a hint of almost childish excitement. "Buried beneath Manburg. It's been there for days, right under your noses. Just waiting for my call."

He was still breathing heavily. Eyes wild, unfocused, jumping. "One push of that button and you're gone. Gone up in a puff of smoke along with the country you destroyed. The country you took away from me." He let out a high-pitched chuckle then, almost making Schlatt flinch. "Crazy how things change, isn't it?"

He blinked, then his eyes fell from the wall to where Schlatt lay. He was shaking a little. Shivering. But his eyes locked with Schlatt's, dark brown fixed on bloody crimson, then he smiled, shakily. "I could blow it all up right now," he whispered. "I could kill us both. I could end everything right now."

Schlatt's grin had faded to a daring smile. He didn't regard Wilbur with terror or apprehension, in fact there was little emotion at all to be found on the hybrid's pointed face. He watched Wilbur, still smiling, still bleeding onto the dusty stone floor. Schlatt always found a way to come back, Wilbur realised. Schlatt didn't give a fuck about death or destruction. 

No matter what happened, Schlatt found his way to get the upper hand once again. He was the thorn in Wilbur's side and had been since the day they'd met, constantly pushing deeper until he drew blood, and not stopping even then. He knew Wilbur's limits and knew how to cross them, and when Wilbur looked him dead in the eyes as he was doing in that moment, he saw no regret, no slipping sympathy. Schlatt desired one thing, he always had, and once he had that thing he wrought chaos, not caring or even wondering who he brought down in his rampage.

Exploding him would be a stray branch in his path, a mere inconvenience he'd kick aside and continue on his way. Setting his land aflame would throw him off course, and Wilbur would be thorn-free for a moment. He knew, however, that a moment without Schlatt was a moment spent waiting tensely for his return. Because Schlatt always came back. Schlatt was inevitable.

And he always seemed to come back better than before. 

"God," Wilbur whispered, shaking his head as his eyes began to fill with tears. Tears which would never be shed. "It's so cold, Schlatt."

Realisation glinted in the other man's eyes, the first humanlike emotion Wilbur had seen in them in a very long time, and slowly but surely, he rose to his feet and approached where Wilbur stood. They stood side by side for a moment, and Wilbur felt a twinge of some emotion from very long ago. It was gone in an instant. Schlatt's hand, almost orange in the burn of the torchlight, resting over the button. A soft click. 

When Wilbur met his old friend's eyes as his hundreds of bombs hissed a threatening tune, he couldn't find it within himself to feel glorious. This wasn't a victory. Not really. Schlatt knew this too, he watched Wilbur with barely contained excitement, ramlike ears twitching with glee. It would be a while, but soon the cycle would repeat itself once more.

"See you soon, lover boy," Schlatt snickered, and Wilbur's world went off with a bang.


End file.
